


It Starts with an Idea

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Category: All Dogs Go to Heaven (1989)
Genre: Christmas, Friendship, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 01:44:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie has the best ideas. Itchy sometimes disagrees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Starts with an Idea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [usedusernames](https://archiveofourown.org/users/usedusernames/gifts).



> Dear usedusernames, this is an additional unrelated ficlet to the other All Dogs fic I wrote for you, as I only belatedly realized that that other fic didn't fit in all that well with your requests. ^^;;

“Look at it like you would any business prospect,” Charlie said. Itchy looked dubious, but he _was_ paying attention, so Charlie pressed on, “All businesses need capital, and since we are canines of limited resources, is it up to us to use our ingenuity in order to obtain said capital by whatever means necessary.”

“That’s a load of bull, if you don’t mind me saying,” Itchy said. He scratched behind an ear, but it was a casual scratch, not an obsessive one, so Charlie counted that as a win. “You just want someone to do the heavy lifting.”

“That’s not true!” Charlie sighed. “Well, okay, kinda, but I’m the one who comes up with the ideas– I’m the idea guy, the Danny Ocean – you wouldn’t let Danny Ocean do all the hard stuff all by himself, would you?”

“But Charlie,” Itchy said, “You don’t have eleven friends.”

Seeing the cue for what it was, Charlie immediately slung an amiable arm around Itchy’s shoulders. “Ah, but Itchy, you’re _worth_ eleven friends.”

Itchy squinted a skeptical eye up at him. “You say the sweetest things, boss.”

Charlie grinned. “Yeah?”

“No.”

“Aww, would you deny this face?” Charlie asked.

“Someone’s got to,” Itchy muttered, squeezing out from under his grip. “You know how it is, you get some hare-brained scheme and don’t stop even once to consider that there might be consequences, and you know who has to do the cleaning up? Me. Me, me, me.”

“But that’s why you’re amazing, Itchy,” Charlie said, nodding with prompt satisfaction at the sheer truth of the statement. “And with both us being amazing at the same time, it’s like a double dose of amazing, and _we can’t go wrong_.”

“There’s a big black hole of non-logic, right there,” Itchy sighed. “I don’t even know why I’m still listening.”

“I’ll get you a new crescent wrench,” Charlie said.

Itchy went still. “What size?”

“Any size you want.” Charlie sat back, watching the way Itchy’s eyes glazed over as he started thinking about the possibilities of a new tool.

“A crescent wrench _and_ a ratchet wrench,” Itchy said carefully.

“Done and done!” Charlie bounced happily, rubbing his forepaws together. “Oh, this is going to be good, that cookie store will never know what hit them. And if we move quickly, we can be in and out before Christmas Eve with the new stock.”

Itchy sighed, but he trotted over to grab a sheet of blank paper and pencil, ready to draw out the technical specs of their future hit. “Flo will kill you if she knows you did this for her pups, by the way.”

Charlie clucked his tongue at Itchy disapprovingly. “It’s the season, Itch, get in the spirit!”

“Bah, humbug,” Itchy said.

“Oh, yeah, don’t forget to get some humbugs, I love those.”


End file.
